


The poppy and the rose

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Beauty - Freeform, Body Worship, Desperation, Fashion & Couture, Flowers, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sexual Content, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a prompt on the Les Misérables Kink Meme where the person wanted feminine looking Montparnasse and Jehan.<br/>I wrote about Prouvaire and Montparnasse as lovers, their feminine beauty, appreciation for their looks and clothes, and then a sex scene where their beauty was a large part of it, body worship and some teasing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The poppy and the rose

“The poetry of the earth is never dead”, John Keats once said, and the young poet Jean Prouvaire, or Jehan, which he usually called himself, had to agree with that. At this undisturbed moment it wasn’t only the poetry of the earth he enjoyed, but the poetry of the very soil, as he was sitting in his little garden admiring the poppies he planted himself a while ago. They had come up fully of the earth now, at first they were just shy little sprouts, but now they stood in full blossom. He was moved by the sight as its beauty brought a touch of happiness to his melancholia. He enjoyed the sight of flowers, but he didn’t want to pick them as they soon would wither and die if he did, but he had recently bought the most beautiful cravat he ever saw, delicate and crisp with small, white embroidered flowers on the almost transparent fabric. Prouvaire inhaled deeply, the fresh scent of the earth and its plants still lingered in his nose when he rose. Such a shame, though, that poppies are odorless, or so he thought.

“Prouvaire,” he heard a soft but slightly drawling voice say, right behind him. He jumped a little, he wasn’t expecting any visits today, but he recognized the voice. Montparnasse. A thief, a crook, a young man capable both of heinous crimes and utterly charming manners, a dandy, a living, breathing fashion plate. And, to add to all that, Jean’s lover.  
“Montparnasse! I didn’t expect to see you today.”  
“I was in the area… Thought I should pay you a visit.” He grinned. “Are you going to make your own opium?” He nodded at the poppies.  
“Opium…” Prouvaire chuckled. “No, no opium. These poppies are here for aesthetic purposes only.”  
“A shame”, Montparnasse teased, before he started running his finger over Jean’s new cravat. “This, though. This is far from a shame. This is actually rather exquisite. And it looks well with that waistcoat you’re wearing.”

As vain a man as Montparnasse was, he never tried to change the way Prouvaire was dressing. Naturally, he wasn’t as well-dressed as Montparnasse himself, with his perfectly shiny shoes with heels – both to make him look taller, and to improve the way he walked, black trousers, gorgeous, frilly cravats, his top hat, his perfectly tailored coat, his white gloves made in some silky and probably very expensive fabric… His nails were perfectly manicured and the man even wore stays from time to time, wanting to have a what he called a “dandyesque shape”. No, he certainly wasn’t as well-dressed as him, but almost nobody was, the thing was – Jean was, to put it bluntly, rather badly dressed, most of the time. He liked frilly shirts, too frilly for what was fashionable at the time, the colours he preferred were either bold, he liked various shades of purple, such as plum and deeper shades, or very light, crisp colours and pastels. He wore jewelry made for women, pendants with precious stones around his neck, bracelets, even a small, delicate ring on his right ring finger. He had heard great many negative statements about his sense of clothing, but Montparnasse, that fashionable man dressed mostly in black and white, didn’t even seem to care or notice.

Montparnasse looked at the poppies. “Well, they certainly are beautiful”, he said, and before Prouvaire had had the chance to react, Montparnasse clipped one of them off with his nails and stuck it in Jean’s buttonhole.  
“Why did you do that for?” he asked with a slight chuckle. “You know that I prefer my flowers to be alive.”  
“Pardon, Monsieur”, Montparnasse answered with a little smirk. “But dead flowers can be beautiful too, and the bright red of the poppy just looked too fantastic with your plum waistcoat to ignore.”  
“Don’t do it again, though. And I can see that you’re rather fond of dead or dying flowers as well.” Jean winked and gave the deep red rose in Montparnasse’s own buttonhole a slight stroke with his fingertips. “And you aren’t modest either.”  
“When have I ever been modest, dearest Prouvaire”, Montparnasse teased, “modest or interested in the well-being of flowers?”  
“Never. Or at least not as long as I have known you. Why did you come here?”  
“Like I said before, I was passing. And, well, for this.” Montparnasse smirked and pulled Jean close, giving him a deep, slow kiss that almost left the young poet breathless.  
“Oh. This,” he answered when Montparnasse finally pulled away.  
“Laconic, are we?”  
“I will not be as laconic once we get inside. Then I believe I will be rather… vocal.”  
“I like you vocal”, was Montparnasse’s retort.  
As the two young men entered to Prouvaire’s bedroom, Montparnasse pulled out a bloody handkerchief from his pocked and made a small disgusted huff.  
“What have you been up to?”  
“Things. I’m not even sure you want to know. I intend to throw it out, don’t worry.”  
“I agree. Some things are best unsaid, even though I know what you are capable of.”  
“You can rest assured that the person had it coming.”  
“I believe you.” Prouvaire sat down on the bed. “So…?”  
“Lay down. I want to start with you.”

Jean did what he was told to do, he laid down on his back. Montparnasse straddled him and began to unbutton his waistcoat. Jean rose just slightly to pull it off completely, then he laid down again. Montparnasse undid two of the pearly buttons on Jean’s shirt before stopping to run a hand through his lover’s long, wavy and almost silky hair. “Beautiful”, he said, stroking Jean’s cheek with his free hand. “So very, very beautiful.” And Montparnasse really found Jean pretty, exquisitely so. His skin was fair and smooth, he almost never needed to shave, and some small, light freckles tinted his nose. His eyes were big, round and greyish blue, his mouth beautifully shaped with a full lower lip. His face had the same freshness as a beautiful woman. Jean looked so young, so innocent, almost fragile. 

Montparnasse couldn’t resist ravishing Prouvaire’s cheeks, mouth, jaw and neck in kisses for a while before continuing to unbutton his shirt. When the shirt was off as well Montparnasse traced kisses all over his collarbone, down to his chest and stomach, admiring his slender shape, the milky skin, his pale shoulders which were, like his nose, slightly freckled. His body was a sight Montparnasse had seen many times before, but he never got less awestruck by it. Touching it, looking at it, the pleased little sighs and gasps Jehan made got him hard and eager, but he took his time, exploring Prouvaire’s body as if it was the first time he saw it. And Jean let him take his time, as he was rather fond of teasing, both to be on the giving and the receiving end of it.

Now Jean’s shoes, socks, trousers and underwear were off. The last thing Montparnasse removed was Jehan’s cravat. “So beautiful, all of you,” Montparnasse mumbled against the skin of Prouvaire’s belly, the feeling of his hot breath against cool skin pleasant and sensual. He kissed and nipped at Jean’s hipbones, his inner thighs, all the areas close to and around his crotch. Jean started to get more vocal now, unable to stifle his moans and gasps.  
“Please, Montparnasse…” The words were almost a whimper.  
“Please, what?”  
“Please… do something.”  
“I am.”  
“Yes. You are teasing me.”  
“I am. But I will put my wicked mouth to use soon enough. And not just with words.”

It felt like an eternity before Montparnasse stopped the kissing, the licking, the sucking and nipping of the skin, on his hipbones, his stomach, up to his neck and jaw again and down his chest, down his stomach once again and down to his thighs… Before he finally stopped and took the other’s full erection into his mouth. Jean couldn’t help but letting out a loud and rather high-pitched moan, a relieved moan, finally the sweet, sweet but painful teasing was over. Prouvaire wasn’t exactly small, but Montparnasse was trained in that field, so to speak, and hadn’t got much of a gag reflex. He soon put Jehan’s member almost fully into his mouth, a tiny gagging noise was heard but he soon adjusted. He sucked him, deeply at first, stimulating almost every single inch of it, then he pulled back a little, twirling his tongue around the tip, licking stripes from the shaft to the tip and from the tip to the shaft, bobbing his head and sucking, pulling back again and sucking hard on the tip only… Jean could cry with pleasure, but he did not. Instead, he gasped, he moaned, groaned, whimpered, and soon enough he was begging for his release.  
Montparnasse pulled back completely. “When?”  
“Now!” Jean almost screamed.  
“I am merely jesting.” Montparnasse gave the tip a kiss before wrapping his full cherry lips around it once again, sucking hard until Jean came with a loud, airy groan. Montparnasse swallowed it all down and smirked. He was still fully dressed.

“I want you naked”, Prouvaire said when he finally regained his breath. “Get up. Undress for me, Montparnasse. A beautiful body such as yours shouldn’t be hidden from me.” Montparnasse gladly obeyed, he kicked away his shoes and socks, he put his coat on the floor – after checking so it was clean, he did not appreciate getting dust on his clothes. After that he removed his frilly cravat and his waistcoat, unclasped his suspenders, unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall to his feet. He wore nothing underneath them. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt, unlaced the stays, which revealed a gorgeous sight. Prouvaire could do nothing but stare at his lover. He, like Jean, was slender, but his chest was a little broader, his waist thinner, his hips a little round and curved in an almost womanly fashion. His neck was pale and delicate, it had a scar from a time he was held by knifepoint. “Turn around”, Prouvaire commanded. He wanted to see his beautiful back, a little scarred, just like his chest, he wanted to see his ass, small, round and firm, his long, slender legs… But Jean’s favourite part of Montparnasse’s body was his wrists and hands. Those slender wrists, one of them had a big scar, probably from an attack with knife, those delicate hands with long, slender fingers… In Jean’s eyes, that was what perfection looked like.

Prouvaire told Montparnasse, in a stern voice, to lay down on his stomach. He seated himself beside him, running a hand through Montparnasse’s long, black curls, often tied up with a ribbon, but not today. His hair was soft, yet the curls were springy. He then planted open-mouthed kisses on his neck, making Montparnasse shiver and gasp with delight. “Fuck… you’re already making me…”

“Hush. Don’t talk, dear. Not now.” Jehan sucked a little on his lover’s neck until a small bruise formed, that action made Montparnasse whimper with lust. “What shall I do with you, my eager, eager little boy...,” Jehan smirks. “Already completely falling apart under my touch. And I have barely just begun.” He got on top of his lover, pressing kisses to his neck, to his back and down his spine, achingly slowly. When he reached his waist he gave it some light caresses and strokes, he let his fingers dance all over it for a while, pleased to see the goosebumps that broke out on Montparnasse’s skin. When he thought that was enough for now his lips continued to follow his spine all the way down to his tailbone. He gave it a hard, wet kiss and begin to kiss and knead his ass. “This is one of your most beautiful parts. It’s like the bottom of a Greek marble statue.” Montparnasse couldn’t give any more retort than some choked gasps and stifled moans. “Getting desperate, are we? I will make you even more so.”

Jean’s tongue flicked out, licking one of Montparnasse’s buttocks before he completely buried his tongue in his ass, licking and eating out his entrance until Montparnasse whimpered loudly, he was, indeed, very desperate now. That encouraged Jean further and he started fucking his lover with his tongue until Montparnasse actually had to ask him to stop or he’d have an orgasm. Jean was very pleased by himself at this point.

He stopped treating Montparnasse’s ass and kissed his legs down to his feet before he asked him to turn around. The other gladly obeyed since his throbbing, aching prick, leaking and basically dripping with precum, rubbed against the surface in a rather uncomfortable way.  
“I had you from your neck to your feet. I think I will reverse the order now and start off with your feet, working myself upwards.” Montparnasse just nodded. Prouvaire found the desperation on his lover’s face absolutely irresistible. His hazel eyes with dark, long lashes were wide open, his gorgeous mouth wrapped around a moan. An utter delight to the eye.  
Jean did what he said, he started off with his feet, his pretty, pretty feet. He kissed them, licked them a little, which made Montparnasse giggle slightly, and then he sucked on some of his toes, the reaction was shivering and some more giggling. “Oh, I seem to tickle you. Pardon,” Jehan teased as he once again kissed his way up his lover’s legs. He spent a long time at Montparnasse’s hips, and thighs, especially his inner thighs where the skin was extra sensitive. “Your body is… delicious. You are. Delicious”, he said as he peppered kisses over his hips before ravishing his inner thighs with kisses, nips and bites, licks, and finally he sucked another purple little mark on his left thigh. Montparnasse had to be careful not to cry out with pleasure.

“Not your prick… not now.” Jean grinned as he kissed his way up his stomach and up to his collarbone. He knew his lover’s sensitive spots, and one of them was his neck. He gave it the same attention as he gave his inner thighs, but now for a much longer time until there were actually tears of desperation in Montparnasse’s eyes.  
“Prouvaire… Jean… Please! I can’t… I’m going to… Oh…”  
“What are you going to do, Montparnasse?”  
“I don’t even know, Jean, I’m falling apart, I’m going to scream or cry soon, I… Please, I want… I need…”  
“What do you need?” Jean teased, knowing very well that the thing Montparnasse needed was his release.  
“An orgasm!” He almost cried out the words, his voice loud and slightly shrill with desperation.  
“I will see what I can do.” And with a gentle hand Jean started stroking Montparnasse’s throbbing erection, making his hand slick with precum. The movements were, at first, painfully slow, but they soon got faster and faster until he realized exactly how close Montparnasse was. Then he took his hand away, placing it on his thigh instead. He was curious about the reaction, and he wasn’t displeased with it; Montparnasse cried out and his eyes overflowed with tears. “Please!” He let out a pathetic little sob, which was endearing enough for Prouvaire to decide that he had been tormented enough. He put his lover’s prick in his mouth and sucked. It took only a few seconds before his mouth was filled with cum, and the noise Montparnasse made as he released almost made Jehan hard again; it was a shrill gasp, then a sob, then he just fell boneless on the mattress. Jean laid himself down beside Montparnasse. 

“You were so beautiful. Absolutely delicious. Perfect, even.” He put his hand on his lover’s cheek, wiping away the tears. Montparnasse grinned, and after his ability to form words was back again he answered.  
“So were you, Prouvaire. You seem to lack the ability not to make me a shivering, whimpering mess under you.”  
“What can I say, dear? Likewise. What do you want to do now?”  
“A glass of absinthe somewhere would be very pleasant. After quite a bit of rest, that is”  
“Ah, that is true. You are no modest man. But absinthe sounds delicious, actually. But now,as you said, let us rest for a while.”


End file.
